Conspiracy of the Fates
by Iolanthe
Summary: Just a story I wrote which I thought could explain a few things. Arabella Figg is an Auror put in charge of protecting her best friends the Potters from Lord Voldemort. Please don't be put off by the prologue, it just has to be there even if it is rubbish
1. Only A Matter Of Time

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Conspiracy of the Fates

By Iolanthe

Author's Note: I've been working really hard on this story for ages, rewriting it countless times and I'm still not really entirely happy with it… but here is the first bit of it, anyway. R/R, constructive criticism appreciated. 

Disclaimer: Believe me, I wish I was, but I am _not _the mighty genius JK Rowling and therefore do not own the characters from the _Harry Potter _series_, _or claim to.

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  * PROLOGUE -

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Only a Matter of Time

"If you can look into the seeds of time

And say which grain will grow and which one will not,

Speak then to me."

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Macbeth, Act One sc. 3 l. 56-58

To See the future is truly a wondrous gift. Imagine knowing what fate holds for you and the rest of the world in the hours, days, weeks, months, years, even centuries to come. In the great garden that is the people of the world, you would know which flowers could bloom and flourish, and which flowers would wither and die before their time.

This great knowledge could create your path to greatness, but it could also cause your downfall. For depending on how you put to use this wisdom it could help or hinder you. Pass the insight on to the wrong people, and the future could be changed drastically, and altering the paths of time is not something you want to do.

Consider this. Time is no more than an assemblage of roads. Normally you travel forwards down the road of time, coming across junctions every now and then, and you choose which way to turn. These are those life-changing decisions we all have to make.

The chosen few can see further ahead than others from their point on the path of time, the true Seers of the future. Those fortune-tellers who so wished could hold the world in the palm of their hand.

Now we begin our journey down the alleys of time, and follow the story of the Founders, and their prophecy that not only predicted the future but also dramatically changed it…


	2. The Dawn

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- CHAPTER ONE -

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The Dawn

It was the arising of a momentous day. Still dark, not a soul stirred.

Miles from civilisation, on a distant hillside stood two men and two women. They linked arms as a sign of their friendship, and waited in anticipation for sunrise.

The first was Helga Hufflepuff, a slight young lady with long, braided fair hair and a radiant smile. Although naïve for a twenty-six-year-old, she made up for it with her worthy heart, which was warm with love and compassion.

To her left stood Rowena Ravenclaw, the oldest of the group at forty-three years, although her great knowledge, understanding and experience shone far beyond her time. It showed in her appearance, which was prematurely ageing, what with her already greying hair and wearied-looking face. 

Beside Rowena Salazar Slytherin stood proud. At twenty-one he was the youngest. He had long twists of ebony hair, and was roguishly handsome. He wanted more than anything to make a name for himself; to say he was ambitious would be a severe understatement. He was headstrong, cunning and resourceful, although at times this could be interpreted as arrogant.

Last was Godric Gryffindor, a man who had seen evils and malignancy beyond belief in his thirty years of life. It did serve a purpose; it made him strong and daring, it gave him nerve and chivalry. Many named him the bravest man they knew.

These four, all great in their individual ways, were not ordinary men and women. In an age when witchcraft and wizardry was forbidden, they had found themselves to be of magical blood. Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor were the four finest witches and wizards of their generation. Fate had brought them together, and here they stood, in a land that had been promised to them all of their lives.

"How many _more _hours, Godric, for Merlin's sake?" drawled Salazar.

"Patience, Salazar, patience," Helga soothed.

"All I'm saying is, this better be worth it," Salazar Slytherin snapped irritably. "You do realise we've been searching for a whole year for a place to do our crucial work. If this is another waste of time, I'll hex you all."

"Calm down, Salazar," Godric said, in a subtle warning tone. "Have faith. This is the place. I'm sure of it."

"We believe in you, Godric, old friend," said Rowena. "Not much longer, young Salazar. I can see the tip of the sun on the horizon. This is it, my friends."

"Yes, comrades," Godric said, smiling. "Witness the dawn of a new era in magical history!"

There was a highly-strung stillness as shafts of light were cast across the miles upon miles of rock-strewn mountains, patched with forests and dotted with lakes. An enchanting silence prevailed, hinting at the pent-up magic stored in this fertile soil, this thriving vegetation, and this clearest water. Candy floss clouds drifted across the pale azure sky, casting erratic shadows across the uneven terrain. This fascinating part of Northern Britain was untouched by human hands. It had concealed its natural wonders and mystical secrets for thousands of years.

There was a lengthy silence as the four witches and wizards stared in awe at the beauty of the place. The hush was finally broken with a whisper from Salazar Slytherin, "I'm sorry I doubted you, Godric."

If it was possible, Godric's smile widened even further.

"It's beautiful," Helga hissed excitedly.

"It's more than just beautiful," Godric began to explain. "The air is intense with magical energy. It is perfect for our plans."

"You have done outstandingly well, companion," Rowena commented, and a compliment from her was rare. "All this time we have scoured the entire globe such as this, and here it is, in our homeland. We have been blind this past year."

"Aye, Rowena. All this time our visionary land was right under our noses," Gryffindor agreed. "But we're home at last."

"Home," Rowena said. "Aye… We should stop dithering, and make up for lost time. Are we settled? Is this our chosen land for where we are to construct or halls of magical learning? Is this the location where young witches and wizards shall come to be enlightened on the arts and sciences of sorcery?"

"Aye, Rowena. We're home at last, like Godric said," Helga Hufflepuff said wistfully, beaming with content as the fresh breeze whipped through her braided locks.

"Aye, Rowena. 'Tis the place," Salazar Slytherin sighed, almost grudgingly.

Godric Gryffindor simply nodded with content.

*

It took five long years for Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor to build their school of witchcraft and wizardry. They built a large and impressive stone castle away from prying eyes, on a cliff overlooking a great glassy lake and a young forest. Yet the constructing was a labour of love; for every day they dreamt up new ideas for the school, hence when the first day of term came, all was in order.

They called this place Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, named after Helga Hufflepuff's Uncle Hogwart who had recently died. He had been a noble old wizard most interested in the endeavours of the four, and was loved dearly by each of them. 

Young witches and wizards between the age of eleven and eighteen poured in from far and wide, to a place where they could learn forbidden Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology and other magical crafts away from the ruthless authorities. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin divided their students into four houses, with four sets of values and merits, like each of the founders.

For many years the school ran without a hitch, and Godric, Helga, Rowena and Salazar worked in harmony as a seamless team. Yet eventually trouble did strike. Salazar Slytherin's headstrong nature got the better of him, causing a rift to break out between him and the others. He claimed it would only be right to allow witches and wizards from wizarding families to study at Hogwarts, due to the untrustworthy nature o what they called 'Muggles' (non-magical people). The others strongly disagreed; saying it was only fair to give all witches and wizards an equal start in magical life.

Godric and Salazar had a consequential brawl over the matter, and Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts, possibly taking with him more than was his, and leaving Hogwarts some nasty surprises for the future…

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And so we jump forwards on the road of time, to where our story truly begins…


	3. In The Invisible Tower

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- CHAPTER TWO -

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In The Invisible Tower

One thousand years or more had passed. Hogwarts continued to flourish; the responsibilities the four founders once took being passed on from generation to generation. Helga, Salazar, Rowena and Godric may have been long gone, but their precious values and enthusiasm for teaching were still very much alive in others.

The school had changed in appearance in only very subtle ways: a few turrets had been added, the masonry showed centuries of weathering and the ivy creeping up the castle walls was now well established. If Godric Gryffindor was to be reincarnated, he would still easily recognise his cherished castle overlooking the vast glassy lake.

For the last few years, Hogwarts had been under the devoted, watchful eye of Professor Albus Dumbledore, certainly one of the best headmasters Hogwarts had seen, and arguably one of the greatest wizards of the age. Everybody from the Minister of Magic downward seemed to have a certain respect for Dumbledore. The spindly, silver bearded, one-hundred-and-forty-year-old wizard appeared to know just about everything that was worth knowing.

Professor Dumbledore lived in the traditional headmaster's tower, where he now sat on this summer's evening at his great oak desk. Those sparkling blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were now scanning through a particularly long letter from the Minister of Magic. He then reached for his peacock feather quill pen, and began to studiously write a reply on some yellowing parchment paper. He seemed so absorbed in his mountainous workload it appeared nothing could possibly disturb him. He wasn't even particularly distracted when the extraordinary site of a witch flying through the arched window on a broomstick.

There was a gentle _flump _as the witch's sparkling silver slippers hit the stone floor. She dismounted her Golden Eagle racing broom and propped it up against the wall of Dumbledore's office. Flicking one of her long darkest-shade-of-chestnut locks behind her ear, she took off her shimmering silver cloak and hung it on the back of the door. She rubbed her shadowed eyes and sighed, taking the magic wand from her cloak pocket.

Dumbledore's office was a circular chamber, which played exhibition room to moving portraits of all the headmasters and headmistresses who had ever served at Hogwarts. In pride of place opposite Dumbledore's desk, and out of direct sunlight, hung the age-old group portrait of the four founders: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff. The witch faced it and tapped the bare stone wall underneath it three times with her wand, whispering a password as she did so.

Magically a small opening emerged out of the solid stone wall, just large enough for an adult to struggle through. The lady got on her knees and crawled through, finding herself at the foot of a stone spiral staircase. There was an eerie purple glow coming from the lanterns that lined the walls. The lady climbed the steps, stopping every now and then to glance at the moving photographs, which had captured many of her happy memories. 

At the top of the staircase was another circular room, but this one was quite different from Dumbledore's study. The otherwise dark, gothic stone walls, heavy, studded, oak door and arched windows had been uplifted with garish shades of purple and blue, with swags of silver velvet hanging from the ceiling. The furniture was quality mahogany, and the walls were lined with shelves of potion bottles of all shapes, sizes and colours. Star and moon shaped beams of light seemed to be mysteriously rotating around the room, lighting every corner. 

The witch sighed with relief. She was home.

She passed through this room and into another, through he oak door in the far corner. This room was entirely different again. The walls were bare stone, and crammed everywhere were cabinets, contained piles upon piles of parchment. Jammed into the corner was an oak desk and chair, which the lady squeezed her way to. She sat down and took a quill, a bottle of ink and some parchment out of one of the draws. Her quill poised, she thought for a moment, and then began to write.

****

30th July

We seem to have the situation with the McKinnons under control, but in predicament s such as this it is always difficult to tell. The house is being guarded by the Prewetts, and well as a thousand and one enchantments cast by them, Mad-Eye and myself. Mad-Eye seems confident that there is no chance Voldemort could succeed in an attack, but as ever, I'm anxious. The McKinnons would undoubtedly be perfectly safe if we were dealing with an ordinary wizard, but of course we're not. Lord Voldemort is anything but ordinary. He always seems to find a way, and that has been a thought worrying me no end this last few days. Yes, the charms on the McKinnons' house are strong, but not unbreakable with Dark magic, I'm sure. As for the Prewetts… they are two of the finest Aurors I know. But unlike Voldemort they are mortal, and I don't question that Voldemort would not think twice about killing them.

As procedure, I have listed the Charms on the McKinnons' house, and have enclosed the records with this entry.

The witch read through a few times what she had written then placed it into one of the wooden filing cabinets. She then returned to the previous room, her lounge. She gracefully sat cross-legged on the tie-dye rug opposite the window. She held her arms out straight at either side of her, like the wings of an eagle. She closed her eyes and composed herself, breathing deeply in, then out.

She let her thoughts ebb away… like a crowded room gradually emptying, one by one. Finally all that was left was utter, blissful peace.

The witch felt the strangest sensation of herself leaving her body… She was travelling to that blue-green, misty place… the place that makes you tingle all over with excitement, fear, sadness and happiness all at the same time… _the place where dreams are created…_

She drifted through realm after realm of what seemed like endless pleasure. Nonetheless she knew it would not last long. Soon she would be entering the domain of nightmares. Soon her ears would be surging with white-hot pain as she heard those unfathomable screams of those who were in jeopardy, those that had been in jeopardy and those who were to be in jeopardy. If she could just make sense of it all, there was a chance she could help one of those waiting to fall into fate's snare…

A painful jolt shook the witch as the perpetual darkness of suffering tried to consume her soul. Endless moaning, screaming, shrieking, weeping… One voice that reached the witch's ears above all the commotion…

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"Help me! Someone hear me, please! They'll kill me! HELP!"

With an agonizing stinging sensation, she was jerked back into her own reality. She knew whom she had to find. She knew where she had to go. She knew what she had to do.

Rushing downstairs, the lady opened the hidden entrance to her tower and ran across Dumbledore's office. She grabbed her broomstick and swooped out of the window on it, and into the blackness beyond.

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Now, a ten-year-old girl by the name of Monica Hildegard waited unknowingly. Soon she was to cross paths with one extraordinary witch who would change her direction on the pathways of life forever.


	4. The Night Stroll

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A/N: sorry it's taken so long for me to upload this grumbles about mountains of boring schoolwork. Please please please r/r! 

- CHAPTER THREE -

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The Night Stroll

Miles away from Hogwarts, nestled in the heart of the English countryside was a small, sleepy village called Ottingdon-Crombie. It was much like any other low-key place in that part of the countryside, with the routine old redbrick farmhouses, white-rendered cottages, the trim and vivid gardens, the village green, the church… nothing particularly remarkable. Surrounding the village was lush hillside where cattle and sheep grazed, and from there, dominating silence seemed to be rolling in and settling like dust upon the sleeping village.

Now nearly midnight, the large clock face on the Ottingdon-Crombie church tower counted down the final minutes of July the thirtieth. Nobody was there to witness this of course. The villagers of Ottingdon-Crombie were far too boring to be seen out of the safety and comfort of their own homes after dark. Except for maybe _one _of them…

The tranquil quiet was shattered as ten-year-old Monica Hildegard came charging down Church Lane, kicking a stone as she went, while muttering furiously.

"Thinks he knows what I _want… _I'll show _him… _I'll show _both _of them… Can't tell _me _what to do…"

Monica was a peculiar site. Her uncombed, frizzy, blond hair was looking even more wild than usual, and her round face was looking particularly red. On her bare arms were signs of scrapes which looked suspiciously like cat scratches, as if a young child had attacked her with a red marker pen. She wore a pair of battered jeans, trainers with the laces untied, and a black T-shirt which reached to her knees. 

On the front of her T-shirt was written: _My parents went to London and all they brought me back was this lousy T-shirt. _It had been a hastily and poorly chosen gift from her father, as it was paper-thin and even smelled of cheapness. Monica found the message on it insensitive and even insulting, since it said parent_s_, as in the plural, when Monica's mother had died when she had been five years old. The T-shirt just reminded Monica how easily her father seemed to be forgetting his wife. 

And there was also the strange fact that Monica was carrying two black bin-liners containing all her favourite possessions, not forgetting the rucksack on her back which accommodated her sleeping kitten, Chandler. This would indicate the likely scenario that Monica Hildegard was running away from home.

She passed Mrs Green's house, a grumpy old lady who had an acute dislike to sprightly Monica Hildegard. Monica took special care in flattening Mrs Green's perfectly placed prized begonias, and then crossed the road, which was narrow and gritty with grass sprouting up the middle. Monica sat on the stone, moss-covered wall that surrounded the churchyard, pondering whether or not to lob a stone through Mrs Green's living room window, as a sort of final venture against the moody old bag.

Was it illegal to throw a stone through the window of an interfering wintry bat's house? Probably. Would Monica get the blame for it? Definitely. Did Monica really care? _Well…_

The truth was this random act of vandalism would get Monica into even deeper trouble than she was in now. Monica's dad wasn't too thrilled with Monica's last school report, which accused her of appalling behaviour and total disregard for the rules. Monica's father was threatening to send her to girls' boarding school because of it, which was what she was so furious about. 

Monica loved living in Ottingdon-Crombie, where the air was fresh, and where she had the freedom to do as she liked. She knew for a fact that a boarding school nobody would allow her to spend hours outside in fields and woods, or to go on midnight escapades. Monica was reminded that they probably wouldn't allow her to keep Chandler either, as he clawed her back, asking to be released from her backpack. Monica would suffocate cooped up indoors all day, without her best friend Chandler for company. 

"What _am _I going to do?" Monica whined, dropping her fluffy grey ball of a kitten onto her knee. One thing was for sure; Monica wasn't going back home. It felt like her Dad wanted her out of the way, like he didn't care how she felt. She felt like crying, but that just wasn't a Monica-ish thing to do. Her Dad had hollered at her so much before she had locked herself in her room just a few hours ago, and now the situation seemed even more desperate. Running away felt like the only solution, if only Monica had somewhere to go… 

"If only Mum was still around," Monica murmured. _"She _would make it alright…"

Monica stared at her feet glumly, and smirked when she saw the remains of Mrs Green's begonias sticking out at odd angles from the soles of her trainers. Jeez, would she be seriously mad tomorrow morning, Monica thought. At least that would be something amusing after the hellish day she had just had.

For a fleeting moment Monica thought she heard footsteps coming from behind the church. She swiftly turned her head, ready to dart into the shadows at the first sign of hazard. Only that trail of thought was interrupted when a strange cold sensation shot like lightning down her spine. It felt like someone had slipped ice cubes down her back. This air she was breathing was beginning to get chillier, feeling like it does on a frosty winter morning.

However there was no time to worry about this possible freak weather. There was _definitely _footsteps fast approaching in Monica's direction, and she didn't much fancy being caught out at this hour by someone. She slid behind the low wall and made her way across to some thick bushes on her hands and knees. Thinking quickly, the best idea seemed to be waiting there until the strangers had passed. Now sinister voices drifted through the now looming mist, and reached Monica's ears, making her shiver.

"Hold out your right arm, Lucius. I wish to summon my other Death Eaters…"

"Yes, Master…"

Monica thought she was in danger of being sent home, or perhaps even being sent to the police. Little did she know the path which lay in the fates for her could be the worst. She had just stumbled across malicious Lord Voldemort in a rendezvous with his formidable Death Eaters…


	5. The Order of the Phoenix

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A/N: Mild swearing in this chapter. I'm not completely satisfied with it so I may replace this chapter at some point. I feature my theory as to what the Order of the Phoenix is (well duh, read the chapter title!). Please tell me what you think in your reviews. 

- CHAPTER FOUR -

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The Order of the Phoenix

Monica found herself breathing very fast as she watched two men in black cloaks exchange inaudible whispers. They reminded Monica of the lurking bad-guys you often saw in films, except this situation was only too real. A strange feeling of foreboding seeped through Monica's veins. Would it be wiser to stay put or to move away and risk being seen? Monica might have considered running off if her legs didn't feel so numb with fear.

Monica's eyes widened in disbelief as others like these mysterious characters appeared out of the nothingness. It was incredible, but Monica assured herself it could be the darkness playing tricks on her eyes, for these shadowy figures appeared in all the places the moonlight did not shine. They assembled into a circle under the largest yew tree, with one man in the centre, standing with an air of mastery. He verified all were present by muttering names under his breath, sounding remarkably like a hissing serpent.

He then lowered his black hood to reveal his deformed, distorted and unnaturally deathly white face. He had a nose like a snake's, with slits for nostrils, and demonic blood red eyes which were piercing and intimidating. Monica's stomach lurched at the sight, and even this monster's faithful followers struggled to hide their revulsion. This man used to be human, but human he was no more.

The man regarded a gap in the circle and then uttered, "Where is Knarling?"

"Sh-Sh-She has been captured, my Lord," quivered a voice.

"Captured?" the man snapped.

"I-I-It could not be avoided, my Lord, I am afraid. I-I-It was A-A-Arabella Figg, my Lord. She and Mad-Eye Moody discovered us levitating Muggles in the early hours… I-I-I managed to flee, but Volumnia was not quick enough Disapparating. I-I-If I had tried to save her, we would both have been captured, possibly killed, my Lord," said the man in the circle. He lowered his head. 

"FIGG!" the Lord spat, as if it were a swear word. "She's living on borrowed time, the meddling bitch."

There was an eerie silence as the hideous man eyed each of his followers suspiciously, causing them to shudder. He then took a deep breath, and said in a sly, high-pitched, spine-tingling tone:

"I sense some of us are doubting where their loyalties lies. All I shall say to these fools is that I do not make a good enemy, as you will already know, unless you are incredibly stupid."

He seemed to be eyeing a particularly short and fat associate with those last words. The short, fat man squirmed uncomfortably. There was another pregnant pause.

"Now, why I have called my faithful Death Eater family to my side," the man in the centre of the circle hissed malevolently. "The McKinnons are dead. I, Lord Voldemort, put an end to their pitiful lives but an hour ago."

Monica felt appalled; she was in the presence of a shameless band of murderers. Monica was truly in the most hazardous predicament she had ever managed to find herself in. She shrank further into the shadows, trying desperately not to make a sound, for that could be deadly.

There was a collective excited whisper between the Death Eaters. Some even bowed and muttered praises to this man who called himself Lord Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his dark robe.

"Yes, yes, that's quite enough, Avery," Lord Voldemort muttered irritably to a man who refused to get back to his feet. The ring of Death Eaters reconvened. The Dark Lord circled within in, his cape swishing sinisterly like a whip.

"Now I shall remind you of my plan of action, if only for the joy it brings to my own ears," Lord Voldemort declared dramatically. "Now, for some time I have been considering my roots, and my family history. As you know my ancestor was the supreme wizard Salazar Slytherin, and I am his Heir to Hogwarts. He was one of the four who founded Hogwarts. Until recently I did not know they did so much more than build a castle and teach young witches and wizards. Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin began the writing the Order of the Phoenix.

"The Order is a record of everything that ever was, is, will be reality or was, is or will be imagined. That is to say the Order of the Phoenix is a collection of documents containing every scrap of information the universe holds. Imagine the power one could have with such a thing! All the secrets of the galaxy at your fingertips! My ancestors failed to grasp this power they could have had. They passed their work on to the next generation and the next, and now the writing of the Order continues. It is an everlasting task, like the life of a Phoenix is endless. Every moment of existence the universe is revealing and creating new secrets to be documented.

"Now the descendants of Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw continue to write the Order of the Phoenix. By birth rite I should too have privileged access to this fountain of information, but the fates denied it me. My mother had contributed to the Order, but she had perished before she could pass the duty to me. With all my relatives gone, I was sent to a repulsive Muggle orphanage, and my place in the Order was forgotten. The other descendants of the founders of Hogwarts were oblivious to my birth and they thought the Slytherin line had died out. How very wrong they were. How dare they omit the greatest of the Hogwarts Four! They shall all die for the sins of those before them, and alone shall I possess the Order! I shall rise to dominate this world for what it has done to me! All Muggles shall be destroyed for how they have treated me in my past! All those who oppose me shall perish along with them! Together, my Death Eaters, we shall form a better world of pureblood wizards! The Dark Order shall rise in triumph!"

Lord Voldemort had succeeded in whipping his followers into exultant hysteria. They cheered, they laughed, and they praised their Master. Monica found it sickening and quite frightening. 

Lord Voldemort then waved his arm to silence them and continued to speak in a hissing tone. "Of course, the Order is written in the utmost secrecy. Therefore tracking down who the present writers of the Order are is exceedingly difficult. Already dead is Caroline McKinnon, by a fluke of fate I found her in possession of the page of the Order containing how it began. Little did she know she cross paths with myself and sentence her fellow writers to death."

There was an eerie silence. Voldemort swivelled on his heel to face Monica. He seemed to be looking directly at her, although it was difficult to tell in the poor light. Those venomous red eyes were enough to makes the bravest of men tremble with fear.

"Hmm… a stupid little Muggle child eavesdropping on our conference. Deal with it, Severus," Voldemort snarled almost playfully. He regarded Monica like something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe, or a spider invading his bathroom. Monica had never felt so small and insignificant in her life.

"Me, Master?" Severus Snape said, in an almost fearful tone.

"Yes you, Snape! Do you not know your own name? Now kill it!"

"Y-Yes, my Lord, of course," Snape stuttered. 

Unthinkingly, Monica grabbed Chandler and her rucksack and ran for it, as fast as her scrawny legs would carry her. She started to yell, hoping to wake someone who could help her, but the words got lost before they reached her lips. 

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Stop shouting and running away. Walk back to the graveyard.

That's what something or somebody was telling her to do, and she could do little else. Her legs were already carrying her back to the churchyard before she could think. It was so easy just to forget her own thoughts… the former fear just flowed away like clouds skimming across the sky…

"Shall we have a little _fun _first, my Lord?" Snape said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

"As you wish," Lord Voldemort muttered in an offhand way. Snape raised a thin rod of wood in Monica's direction, and muttered inaudible words. Suddenly Monica found herself horrifyingly aware of her surroundings again, and the fate which awaited her. She was going to die, age ten, before she could fulfil any of her dreams and ambitions. Death was looming… what everyone feared most…

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"Wingardium Leviosa," Severus Snape muttered. Monica's stomach gave an unpleasant jolt as she realised what was happening. _Her feet were leaving the ground. She was _floating!

Monica squirmed and lashed out with all her might, screaming in fear only in vain. The Death Eaters laughed and jeered at her misery, making the terrifying experience worse. Higher and higher she hovered, above the houses… above the trees… above the church spire. Higher still… son she would be touching the clouds! Then something completely unexpected happened.

Someone, or some_thing, _grabbed her around the waist.


End file.
